


Puppeteer

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Mind Control, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lil Cal is not the only puppet in the Strider house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppeteer

Your name is Ambrose Strider, you are 6 years old, and your best friend is a puppet.

Of course Cal is your best friend. Why wouldn't he be? You've lived in 3 different homes with three different families so far in your short life, but Cal has been with you the whole time. Your last mommy tried to take Cal away, yelling a lot about a demon. You were sad and scared, but Cal was mad. Really, really mad.

You moved houses not long after.

\--

Your name is ~~Ambrose~~ Bro Strider, you are 12 years old, and Cal is starting to make you uncomfortable.

There's something up with him. You're not sure how you didn't notice it before. He talks sometimes, late at night, about all kinds of awful things. You don't listen anymore, but you can't block his words out entirely. 

You hate him, a little bit. And yet, every time you even think about tossing him out a window or into the garbage or in a wood chipper, part of your brain twists and _pulls_ and you have to cry out because it hurts so bad.

Besides, if you toss him out, who would pick him up? You wouldn't wish this on anyone. Well, maybe Darren Brown at school. He's kind of a jerk.

Cal tells you to draw sometimes. It starts harmless, hugs and kisses and soft things. That doesn't last. Sometimes, Cal has lots of different voices that all layer together (one of which sound disturbingly like _you_ ), and the quietest whisper of a voice pushes your art _further_ in a way that makes you feel gross and uncomfortable and like you need to shove your sketch pad under your bed. But, just like whenever you do anything else he doesn't want, your head _yanks_ and you scramble to get it before it can get any worse, like the time you tossed Cal into the garbage truck as it trundled by, and you threw up for 20 minutes straight. You ran to the dump and dug though the garbage while your nose ran blood until you finally found him buried under dirty diapers and dirty magazines. 

That's when you stopped trying to get rid of him.

\--

Your name is Bro Strider, you're 17 years old, and you just found a fucking baby is a crater.

He's on a horse.

You don't question it.

\--

Your name is Bro Strider, you're 18 years old, and you have no fucking idea how to raise a baby.

You noticed Cal's voice got a little quieter with a shield, so you slam a pair of shades on the kid the first chance you get.

Quiet doesn't mean nonexistent.

Cal still whispers in the back of your head, fear and rage, dominance and submission, your voice and his and his and his. You make his art and fight his fights and the _fucking puppets_ are endless. You do some things just to remind yourself who you are, like mixing and dancing and losing yourself in endless crowds, but Cal is always with you.

You have to protect your ~~son~~ brother. 

A voice urges you _hold him hug him tell him you love him_ but you can't tell if it's you or Cal and that scares the shit out of you. Better to have no affection than to try and balance and go too far. 

You have to have to have to keep up a mask, some sort of distance between the two of you, because there are parts of your brain screaming _he isn't strong enough prove yourself get rid of him who needs him_ and other parts about things that make you vomit into the toilet bowl at three in the morning and install cameras in his bedroom - not to watch him, but yourself. Sometimes, you feel fear or rage that isn't your own and you _need_ to flashstep away or you'll do something you regret.

You watch as your lack of affection shreds your brother.

You grab Cal and walk away.

\--

Your name is Bro Strider, you are definitely not 30, and Dave is playing a game.

Cal shrieks in approval, torn up as he is, and pulls you to repair him. You comply without even thinking about it. Later, he twists you away from your brother, but you manage to save him from a meteor before the pain gets too bad.

You hope he can forgive you, someday.

\-- 

Your name is Bro Strider, you are an age that doesn't matter anymore, and you're dying.

Cal is gone. It doesn't hurt, for some reason. You don't remember the last time you didn't have his rage and terror and mirth and voice pounding in the back of your head.

Your ~~brother~~ son in next to you, bleeding pixels and mercury, dying just like you.

You grip his hand with the last of your strength, and choke out a soft, "Sorry, li'l bro."

His eyes are wild. "What? Why?"

You grimace. "You know why."

A deep breath. "Yeah."

No forgiveness. No absolution. You don't expect it.

You squeeze his hand once more, too exhausted to talk.

Eventually, he slips out of your grip, and you hear the unsteady flap of wings.

You lay alone, a sword through your gut, without a puppet or a son with you. 

The first time you've ever truly been by yourself.

Right before it all fades to black, you hear footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
